Sacred Flowers
by Soul Sailor
Summary: For Cathy, her troubles begin when her father dies. The strangeness begins with a strange friend of her father's whom she has never met, but who takes them in before they can be taken into the manor to become the flowers of the attic... instead, the counterculture comes soon to them all. Complete AU.
1. Chapter 1

Sacred Flowers

Notice: This work is an original piece based on the Flowers in the Attic novel by V. C. Andrews. Aside from characters and plot developments specific to this work, all characters and related intellectual properties belong to the V. C. Andrews estate. There is no personal profit derived from this work other than enjoyment and constitutes a work of parody, covered by fair use. This work is published in the public domain under with no rights claimed therein by the writer save a request to acknowledge the principal writers and copyrights pursuant to the Flowers in the Attic IP. If a representative of the V. C. Andrews estate has any questions or inquiries into this work, please contact via the message service of this site. **I do not own Flowers in the Attic, nor do I have** **any ownership of the associated intellectual properties.**

* * *

It wasn't the same then the way it is now, not on any number of things and issues. When I was a child, attitudes were different, people were different and I hadn't understood what it was that was so different about my own family. I wasn't the oldest, but my brother, Chris, was. I was the second oldest, the older of us girls and the twins followed us. We were fair, blond, clear-eyed and an attractive family; everyone who knew of us children called us the Dresden Dolls, after those popular figurines on everyone's mantles back then. Chris, Cathy, Cory, Carrie; That was us. Four beautiful, happy children with a hard-working father who was being promoted and a mother who absolutely spoiled us-but so well-mannered and the twins sweet were we that it didn't spoil us at all.

Our father was set to come home after a long business trip. We were waiting to surprise him, a pendant around my neck that he had given me, pearls around my mother's neck and earrings of diamond droplets, just small enough not to be too showy. As always, the ring with its spray of tiny but real diamonds, bought before Chris and I were born, the tiny bands of gold holding it all together in a web that was stronger than each weak filament alone. We were so excited. We had a nice and cozy home, toys enough to content any child and a green yard with space to run under a brilliant and kind sun and a neat, if small garden of hydrangeas to please the eye. Our furniture was fashionable, the wallpapers and rugs in the house pleasing to the eye and everything was faultlessly clean and tastefully chosen, just so.

That a police officer opened the door, doffing his hat and looking mournful was not something my mother expected or _just so_. "Ah, sorry-do you have the right address?" My beautiful mother asked.

"Mrs. Dollenganger, I'm afraid there's no mistake. May we speak alone, ma'am?" The officer asked respectfully.

"Cathy, would you get everyone drinks and settle them down? Perhaps it's not the best night for a party after all." She asked me. I did as I was told, distracted by taking care of sending off of my parent's fashionable friends.

As it turned out, almost entirely fair-weather friends as well. They sent condolences but nothing else, stopping calling after a few weeks when the truth became clear to them. I can see it now-and I can hardly hold a grudge though I was not so sure why they never came back then. A family's affairs weren't to be aired in public, **ever**. Not in those days. The twins cried when mother told them that father wasn't going to come home. Not tonight, not ever. Of course, over the next few days that turned into weeks, they kept asking as if she had said nothing but got the same answer. My mother would retire into her room and come out puffy-eyed and pale when new mail and new bills would come. I didn't understand exactly what I was seeing. One day, she began writing like a storm, sending off letter after letter. She watched the mail like a hawk each day, even when nothing good was there, never letting me and Chris see what was going on.

Bit by bit, our stylish furnishings went away. Toys were sent off. Most of my mother's jewelry was sent off and food wasn't so rich and plentiful but we made do and I learned how to cook and budget, learning from the home economics class. My ballet lessons ended, as did Chris's science tutor and our subscriptions to magazines and newspapers. We were going broke and it scared all of us. Mother never considered working; and she forbid us from going out to work. We were never going to be one of _those_ families, not the Dollangangers.

The doorbell rang and little Carrie clutched the last beautiful doll that she had kept, looking curiously past her curls. I took her onto my lap and watched her suck her thumb, something she'd never done before father had died. I hadn't really cried before then-we had been truly happy, even before the money. Chris opened the door. "Dollenganger residence, how may I help you?" His tone was perfectly polite; he was quickly becoming familiar with bill collectors and those who came to repossess the things my mother told us not to worry about-we could do without them. In this, she was right, even as the twins cried about the new toys taken away by creditors.

The brown-suited man was large but more tall than wide, with an immaculately trimmed mustache and small beard, something I didn't see much of-my father himself always had trimmed his whiskers, singing out about not poking his daughter. This man took off his hat. "Ah, the man of the house now! Just one of the ones I wanted to see. I need to speak to you children and your mother alike, for an opportunity of a lifetime. I come with happy news and opportunity for this lovely family."

I gathered the twins and called my mother, who came out in a nice dress, though not so nice as the one she wore for the party. She still looked perfect to me then and I loved her. It might be hard to understand with how she hid so much from us and did what she did-but I loved her then. She tried so hard it seemed to hide any difficulty from us, though I am not sure how much was because she didn't want us children to worry or how much it was because she herself didn't know how to handle money. She didn't seem familiar with the man, who did a sweeping bow and kissing her hand like a gallant knight right out of Chaucer, perhaps one who rode with King Arthur himself.

He made sure to keep his briefcase out of the way but held onto it. "Madam Dollenganger, I apologize for my tardiness, I had meant to contact you much sooner-I very nearly had given up finding the address of the man who I feel very sad to have known only a short time. He'd impressed me with the descriptions of his charming family and your past troubles. Say no word, I know you'd not want the children to have such trouble touch their pretty heads." He smiled and greeted us all. "Chris, I hear you are on the advanced track on your school, a young man of great merit. Cathy, I heard that you are a graceful aspiring dancer. And the twins, partners unlike any other since Castor and Polydeuces. Truly a pleasure, truly!" He spoke with belly-shaking laughs. "I am Richard Pan." He was such a lively, joyous man.

"Mr. Pan, I do recall my husband speaking of you before from work, though not much. He said that you and your wife have had troubles of some kind yourselves?" My mother looked utterly surprised, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a chair. "Please, sit sir."

He sat, still smiling faintly. "Thank you, miss. Truly he didn't exaggerate at all the charm of this household. It is rather smart by and by. How long have you left on it?" He asked in a disarming cheer, failing entirely to answer her question.

"Two months, then I will have to return to my mother's. I was planning to leave in a month when the school term was up." She stated quietly. "I would rather not speak of those classless matters in front of my children if it's all the same to you."

He stopped smiling. "That cold house has nothing for your children and you know it. Let's be frank, madam Dollenganger. I know you're in debt and that you are begging your parents who cut you off years ago, who said a great deal of nasty things about your marriage to my friend to take you back. He was a good man-a good friend. He made a good home but he is now good and _dead_. I made him a promise before he died and I will _jolly well_ follow through on that promise. Do you understand?" He spoke seriously.

She hesitated before she slowly nodded. He then continued. "I am a lawyer. That's what I did for the company and I consulted with others in the firm who specialize in family law and matters like this. You need to sign certain papers. Your children will be cared for, your debt will be partly cleared. You will go to your dreadful mother and she will not lay eyes on these young ones. She can deal with the rest and make it go away as she would any other matter: with sufficient money. All of it will be taken care of in time and you can forget about it all. You may write letters after a year if it's something in your interest. The young ones are young enough to forget this day. Your husband and I spoke at length about it and he wished that woman never lay eyes on these children after the way she treated you both. Bring me the bills. All of them." He brought out paper and a mechanical pencil. "You can call the law if you'd like-but you won't. Bring it all to me and I have a pen for what you need to sign."

He was cold in that moment, as he could be when it came down to business. My mother was so pale. "Chris, if you please would, help me."

My stomach felt heavy as letter after letter still unopened came out, receipts and records. He sat there and solved it out long-hand and tabulated it all. He sorted them into two piles, placing one of the piles into a tan manila folder, storing it in his briefcase. He then took out some papers with a decree, stamping and initialing them. My mother set out lemonade for him, his jacket left over the back of the chair as he worked, white sleeves rolled back to his elbows. He bound the rest of the bills and mail he had put aside in twine and pushed them across the table. "This is what you will give your mother. Tell her a friend of yours took care of the rest in your hour of need, _pro bono_. You should start packing your children. My wife waits in the hotel. It's close to the school and you shouldn't have any more worries as you run home to Virginia-without the children. They will never see that bloody place until they are of majority if I have anything to do with it."

That day was the first time I had considered that maybe we had more relatives than I had thought-that there were possibly more than just my mother and until that fateful day, my father. Nothing more had been needed aside from the acquaintances at school. I had never pondered about their grandparents, aunts and uncles. Maybe if I had, I would have asked more questions back then and made different decisions. We older ones packed up for ourselves and the younger twins.

Carrie crossed her arms. "I'm not going. I won't leave Mama." She spoke, sticking out her chin. "I won't go and you can't make me! He's a fathead meanie who scared Mama!" She rose her voice in a shriek and tried to shut the drawer I'd been packing. I had snatched my hands back just in time to avoid some painful jamming.

I wasn't angry, just as confused and scared as she was, trying my best to cover it with a brave face. "Carrie, he's just trying to help. We can't stay in the house, you heard mother." I tried to explain. "They're repossessing it."

For a while, me and Chris had thought to get part-time jobs to support mother and at least keep ourselves in the house. The stone in my stomach had gotten heavier as the strange man had gone through the letters, picking apart all the bills mama had ignored and pushed away. I hadn't known that mama had borrowed so very much to keep us in that smart house, with such fashionable furniture, new jewelry and new dresses. Only the necklace my father had placed around my neck had stayed of our new finery. It was then that I realized that the hands that had reached out to grab the parcel of bills had no ring. Where was the wedding ring mother had been so proud of, with the tiny spray of real diamonds and its thin bands of gold?

A suitcase each, with a toy each for the twins-a doll for Carrie, a plush mouse for Cory. For me, I carried my necklace, Chris our father's class ring that he'd taken when mother had first started selling off things. Jackets were put on in spite of the heat, as we didn't know where we were going or how far. Carrie kept quiet as we lined up for his inspection.

He turned to our mother and looked her in the eyes as she flinched. "Say goodbye to the children, Corrine." He said quietly.

She hugged each of us, kissing our cheeks. Carrie hugged our mother's leg tightly, crying again. She didn't want to leave. Cory sniffled and joined her on her other leg. The gentleman waited patiently as they cried themselves out. Finally, mother picked them both up, handing Cory to Chris and Cathy to me. She said nothing-she didn't even look at us.

I knew, then. I knew as we walked to the car of Mr. Richard Pan that Mother would not ever come to see us. Christopher and Carrie always asked me how, later that I knew. It was only Corey and I who looked back to watch for something that never came: Corrine Dollanganger, our mother. We saw only the house.

She would never come back to us. She would never write us.

She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When I was young, we went to the local church. We always dressed in our Sunday best and came with ribbon, hat and tie as appropriate. It was a gentle and easy-going church, which spoke of good deeds and charity for those less off being important. Our parents never talked of sin, it was never touched upon in our church or by our friendly and not terribly old minister. There were other churches in town, plenty of them-it was a different time after all. All the families went to these churches in our neighborhood, to not was a terrible scandal in that simpler world. A world the four Dresden Dolls that lined up upon the shelf so very neatly would never again be a part of.

We found our road ended that night at a local hotel with suites-Mr. Pan had been well-off, unlike my father. We were working upper middle class, they were as well but more comfortable than we were. The rooms seemed so at once too opulent yet somehow at second look, more humble than it appeared. The sumptuous gold was only a pigment painted on the wallpaper and the lovely wood was merely a local strain, well-stained and carved just enough to give better than plain posts. It was still nice, but presumed to be more than that. Our suite had two connected rooms and a shared bathroom, each having beds and a sink was running behind the bathroom's closed door when we stepped in. "Ah, Margie should be out soon. She has been so anxious to meet you-she wasn't sure if this would come through." Mr. Pan spoke very gently.

It was always Chris who had the curious intellect. "Mr. Pan-" He was briefly interrupted.  
"Please, feel free to call me Richard if you'd like, young Chris." The big man loosened his tie and sat down, an arm with loose hand resting on the desk between the beds in the room closer to the door. "When you're ready to, rather. I won't force things on you unwanted, except what's necessary. I sweat I'll be a good guardian to you children and I keep my promises when I can."

"Are you from England… Richard?" Chris asked the man, taking a seat at a desk as the twins clung to each other nervously.

"Yes, some years ago." He admitted. "I came here, met my wife and began work. I put down ties here. It's difficult to be away from work, but goodness knows when I'll have the chance for a rest and to do something that's right. I've lived here some six years, now. It was at work that I met your father."

Father had kept work strictly at work, aside from the odd bit of paperwork he had to do on occasion-and he told none of his children of what he actually did, only that he worked hard and wore a suit as most fathers in our neighborhood did. Some wore blue-collared suits, others strictly white. A few had white coats, if that was the pharmacist who could make the brown cows that Corey and Cathy liked so much or the kindly nurse who watched over the scraped knees, loose or teeth fallen out in bread and other such small foibles of the students at school. It was a quiet neighborhood, with quiet and mannerly people to the eyes of a child.

Yet, there were always those children at school that many avoided, wasn't there? None said exactly why. Just as old friends never said why they drifted away; I had one day simply become invisible to them, one of those pariahs. The moment of reverie didn't feel awkward-the large, jovial man seemed content to allow us our time to adjust to having been essentially sold.

The woman who came out was as mousy as he was bearlike and her smile even crinkled up her nose. "Ah, here are the children! Such darlings." She exclaimed.

She dressed in a black, dainty blouse and a proper pencil skirt, hoisery, heels, pearls with thick black hair in an updo. She had skin like a deep bronze, eyes like the deepest of rich mahogony and nails and lips of a ruby coral. She wore makeup and a fascinating necklace comprising only of some uncut crystal-perhaps rose quartz with a silver wire wound around it, keeping it connected to the chain that supported it. It looked almost like a spider's web.

I hadn't seen a lot of people who looked like her outside of movies and the rare service worker who kept to themselves.

"You're colored!" Corey was always the more daring one of the two, so while my face grew hot with embarrassment, Margie instead laughed.

"Well, God has a lot of crayons in his drawer. He drew you four with peach, he drew my Rich with a dusty pale red and me, he drew me in umber and earth. What a creative artist, don't you think?" She didn't seem offended at all.

I didn't realize that I'd been tense until I relaxed. Richard and Margie Pan were good people at first sight, instead of the cold pair that meant business we had come to meet warm people. She knelt before Carrie. "And who is the shy maiden here? I am Margie, how do you do?"

"How do you do." She said sullenly. "I'm Carrie."

"A lovely name, Carrie. That's a world-class name. You take your time. Does your friend in your arms have a name, too?"

"Tiffany." Carrie could be a stubborn girl, sometimes and Margie contended with a hard case.

"Well, I have a cousin with that name. She lives in Orleans, France. She sends letters and words in French, helping me learn that language. They call it the country of love. Would you like to learn with me?"

Carrie looked up, curious instead of being folded into herself. "Maybe." She pronounced.

"Well, that does sound promising, oui? That means yes." Margie smiled brightly. She turned her head to Richard. "Well, we can work on this can't we?"

Margie smiles. "Well, let's get you children situated-like and copacetic. Richard will drive you children to school while we're here. I will be working quite early myself. We all have a lot to learn about one another, I would imagine!"

More than I could, little did I know.


End file.
